Hell's Breakroom - Episode Four

A Union Mandated Hell Story

The break room is in chaos. Not the usual, cherry flavoured, existentially draining kind of chaos, but a full, real, tequila and sour milk cheesecake disaster. Papers are scattered everywhere, some even hung in mid-air having been tossed out of sync with the rest of time. The vending machine is smoking slightly and the smoke had occasional flashes of lightning while the coffee pot had developed a sentience, and bi-polar disorder simultaneously. A fire flickers on the table, but no one seems particularly interested in putting it out.

In the centre of it all, Bubbles is vibrating with what can only be described as nervous glee, the foetus inside her jelly form doing an unsettling little jig. "OKAY SO. GOOD NEWS. BAD NEWS."

Terry, covered in what appears to be soot and regret, glares. "Start with the good."

Bubbles bounces on the spot. "I FIXED THE COFFEE MACHINE!"

A long, gelatinous silence followed. Then Screwtop, who is cautiously holding an empty mug, and the cat picture on his empty mug, both lifted an eyebrow sceptically. "I’m afraid to ask."

Bubbles grins, showcasing far, far too many teeth. "It can do cold brew now!"

Terry gestures at the general state of ruin. "And the bad news?"

Bubbles hesitates, looking around. "Okay so I may have also accidentally caused a minor time loop within the break room."

Kevin blinks slowly and with a sigh says, "Define ‘minor.’"

Bubbles waves vaguely. "Oh, you know. Standard stuff. Repeating moments. Déjà vu. The occasional existential collapse into the void," she gestures at the papers which are scattered throughout the air of the room, "items getting out of sync."

Deborah, who has been flipping through the same three pages of her magazine for a suspiciously long time, sighs and puts it down. "I thought my horoscope was gaslighting me."

Terry groans, rubbing his temples. "How do we fix it?"

Bubbles shrugs. "Good question! Also, fun plot twist, I don’t want to fix it."

Screwtop frowns. "Why the hell not?"

Bubbles’ many hands gesture wildly. "BECAUSE. If we keep looping, we NEVER have to go back to work!"

Everyone pauses. Processing. Contemplating. Digesting. Professionally procrastinating.

Kevin, still staring into the abyss, whispers, "…That’s genius."

The vending machine, which has somehow invented new emotions, spits out a can labelled "ETHICAL DILEMMA (SPICY)." and a bar of "Requires an Educated Pallet". Deborah shrugged, grabbed both and dropped dramatically on to the couch.

Terry folds his arms. "Okay, but what if management finds out?"

Bubbles scoffs. "How would they? As long as no one leaves the break room, no one reports back. We just stay here. Forever."

Deborah considers this, idly stroking her hand between two couch cushions. "So, you’re saying… an endless coffee break? No meetings? No performance reviews?"

Kevin gasps. "No charts?"

Screwtop, eyes wide, looks at his untouched coffee. "No quotas?"

Bubbles grins. "Exactly."

Silence. The fire on the table crackles cheerfully.

Then, from somewhere outside the room, a delicate female voice whispers loudly over the intercom:

"ATTENTION EMPLOYEES. ALL TORTURE QUOTAS HAVE BEEN INCREASED BY 200%. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR STATIONS IMMEDIATELY."

The room collectively screams. Then everyone realises that the couch also screamed. They all turned to see Deborah remove the can of Ethical Dilemma from between the couch's cushions, open it and take long drink.

The vending machine lets out a cruel, metallic laugh and ejects another can. This one has no design or name on it.

The break room is steeped in the heavy silence of pure, unfiltered defeat. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Even the fire on the table seems to slump, flickering weakly, like it too has lost the will to go on.

Screwtop finally breaks the silence by slamming his mug down onto the table, the cat on it is crying. "Two hundred percent?! Two hundred?! We’re already running at MAXIMUM TORTURE CAPACITY!"

Terry, still staring at the intercom speaker like it personally betrayed him, mutters, "There is no two hundred percent. That’s not how suffering works."

Kevin, dead-eyed as always, shrugs. "You just lack vision."

Bubbles claps a little too enthusiastically. "OHHH! OHHH! WE COULD DOUBLE TORTURE PEOPLE FOR THINGS THEY DIDN’T EVEN DO!"

Terry glares. "We already do that."

"Okay, okay," Bubbles concedes. "Then we make them feel responsible for things they could have done but didn’t!"

Deborah, now sitting on a stool with her back to couch, which is now sobbing in shame, snorts. "Ah, yes. Catholic guilt. Classic move. That's delicious."

Screwtop groans and slumps into a chair. "Ugh. We need a real plan. Something innovative. Something efficient."

Kevin blinks slowly. "We could... just ignore it."

The room stares at him.

Terry frowns. "Ignore... Hell’s management?"

Kevin shrugs. "What are they gonna do? Fire us?"

Kevin nods. "Exactly. What’s worse than this?" He gestures vaguely around the room. "What are they can they do? Promote us? Make us middle management?"

Deborah raises an eyebrow. "Kevin. there is infinite emotional depth in this place. I once had to inform an imp that he was being demoted from scanning all his teams paperwork, to cleaning the cloth which is used to clean the team's scanner."

A collective shudder ripples through the room. Even the vending machine lets out an unsettling beep.

Terry rubs his temples. "Alright, let’s at least brainstorm. Any ideas?"

Screwtop drums his fingers on the table. "What if we outsource?"

Bubbles gasps. "Oooooh, make humans torture themselves!"

Terry tilts his head. "You mean, like, taxes?"

Deborah sips her coffee. "No, they’re already doing that. We need something worse."

A long pause. Then Kevin, with the serene calm of someone who has seen the abyss and made peace with it, speaks:

"Customer service jobs."

The room collectively gasps.

Bubbles’ many eyes go wide. "KEVIN. YOU. ARE. A. GENIUS."

Screwtop leans forward. "Think about it. Instead of actively torturing them, we just hire them. Call centres. Retail. The HMRC."

Terry rubs his chin. "It’s so evil… it just might work."

The vending machine spits out a can labelled "CORPORATE SOLUTIONS (UNHOLY)." Deborah pops it open. The sound it makes is deeply unsettling, almost like a babies diorama explosion only it got pinched off without finishing.

Bubbles bounces in place. "OH OH OH. AND WE GIVE THEM IMPOSSIBLE CUSTOMERS!"

Kevin nods. "Only Karens."

Screwtop grins. "And every time they fix one problem, three new ones appear."

Terry gestures dramatically. "They are never allowed to hang up."

Deborah smirks. "And every call starts with ‘your estimated wait time is... forever.’"

Bubbles claps thirteen hands and bounces, "And each one of them has different KPIs. Oh, and upselling!"

The fire on the table flares up triumphantly. The vending machine, seemingly on board with the plan, drops another can. This one reads: "MANAGEMENT APPROVAL PENDING."

A tense moment stretches. The coffee pot chuckles nervously

Then, the intercom crackles to life again. A voice, sweet and dainty, floats through the room:

"ACCEPTABLE."

A collective cheer erupts. Bubbles immediately starts filling out non-existent HR paperwork. Kevin, for the first time in eternity, smiles. The fire on the table dances with excitement.

Screwtop leans back, satisfied. "Well. That was a productive break."

Terry sighs, finishing his coffee. "Alright. Back to work."

The demons groan, stretch, and reluctantly begin shuffling toward the door. As they leave, the vending machine spits out one final can.

It reads: "HOPE (BRIEFLY RESTOCKED, IMMEDIATELY SOLD OUT)."

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